


Love Prevails

by Clueingforlooks221B



Category: The president - Fandom, obama - Fandom
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M, OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clueingforlooks221B/pseuds/Clueingforlooks221B
Summary: So I wasn't going to post this, but then figured if anyone needed a good laugh I'd post this here anyways. This is all just pure crack and not to be taken seriously.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my friend's late birthday. I am not whatsoever political so haha yeah enjoy my tangent of randomness.

One foggy morning at the Biden’s resident, Joe slides down his 30K golden stare case railing in his Obama boxers decked with his american flag knee high socks. 

Today is the day. He can feel it in his pulsating heart that is wrecking tremors in his shaking pale knees eluding excitement. 

Sometimes he feels self-conscious, but gains more confidence than Meghan Trainor and Beyonce morphed as one when he google images pictures of Donald Trump. He embraces his ivory skin and chiffon straying hair. After all, at least his hair is natural and stays in place.

Slamming two l’eggo my eggo confetti waffles-he has them shipped to him all the time even though they’re only seasonal since he’s Joe Biden and he can do whatever he wants, though he doesn't know the Kellogg’s company is plotting his murder since they hate him for the extra time out of their day they waste on having to manufacture them-in his rusting toaster, he leaps onto his marble frigid counter and squats as he awaits his scrumptious breakfast. 

Shortly the waffles surge out of the toaster, emitting a boisterous popping sound that radiates off the kitchen walls. Joe jolts at the sudden noise, american socks slipping against the marble counter as he falls flat on his face on the tiled kitchen floor. Instantly he bounces up, pads of his fingers whimpering as they grip the scathing waffles. The waffles dance in his hands before plunging to the counter. Their soggy on the inside still, so Joe puts them back in the toaster, growling as he returns to his squatted position. Once the waffles pop out he repeats the motions of falling again, nose pounding as he grips the crusty waffles. 

They are black, just how he likes them. (Wink, wink.) 

Grabbing the syrup and butter he shoves the entire waffle down his esophagus first. Head tilted back he blindly cuts a large chunk of frozen butter off his plate and knifes it into his throat. Snapping the syrup cap open he floods his mouth with the pure rainstorm of sugar, swallowing everything whole. 

With the other waffle he goes through the motions once more, before rushing to the closet downstairs where Jill laid out his suit for him the night before. Hopping with one leg he tosses his pants on while throwing his shirt on, through the arm holes he glances at the watch on his wrist. 

He’s right on schedule, as usual. Biden is always fashionably late. Little does he know, Obama tells him meeting times always ten minutes earlier than they really are so he will be on time. 

Tangling himself in his navy coat he slams the front door shut behind him. The palm of his hands bite into his ebony glistening dress shoes as he slips his roller blades on. 

Biden’s all about natural resources, so that’s why he blazes everywhere. Everywhere.

Of course he doesn't forget his sparkly purple cat helmet with attached cat ears. His granddaughter left it behind once, so finders keepers. 

He kicks himself into action, body propelling forward as he sprints to the White House. Even when the cross walk says not to cross he does, because not only is he a bad ass, but he’s also Joe Biden so people will screech to a halt for him. 

A black limo zooms besides him, but just by hearing the tires Biden doesn't have to glance to know who it is. He rolls his eyes, groaning as he pushes himself to go faster. 

“Joe honey please, just get in the car!” Jill Biden hollers out to him, but Joe doesn't seize his blading. 

Once he starts he can’t stop. 

“Jill you’re poisoning the earth! Besides blazing is lit that’s what the kids say!” He doesn't spare her a gander, continuing to blade away. 

“Oh Joe for the last time that’s not the kind of blazing they mean!” Jill hits a red light and Joe cackles as he speeds away. That will teach that wench. 

Up ahead a crowd of teens Joe sees every morning loiters by the bus stop. As Joe blazes by he gives them all a high five, and flashes his pointer finger at them. Instantly they all call out to him, “Joe!” 

Joe simpers as he maneuvers around them all, twisting so he is blazing backwards. “What’s up brothers?” He does a little jig, twirling back around to face forwards again. 

“Joe what’s up!” A burly man Joe regularly sees sticks out his hand, and of course Joe doesn't leave him hanging. “Just blazing bro!” The man lets loose a deep chortle that Joe hears for several miles after he speeds away. 

Approximately 21 minutes later Joe is met with the familiar alabaster fence leading into the white house. The guards let him passing, sending him deadpanned single nods of the head. Joe nods back, curving to the side to halt in his rollerblades. He slides to the stoney floor, palm scratching against it as he jerks to a stop. Placing the blades besides the door, he leaves his helmet on top of his blades as he struts inside. 

He’s so ready.

But right when he steps inside, everything falls. His heart, his lungs, his air flow, his dress shoes, his heart, his lifetime of how much longer he has to live. What is HE doing here? 

Right besides Obama, staring so openly at him and being so obvious which is gross and ruins a person’s chances with someone-good he doesn't know the first thing about getting someone-is Trudeau. 

Honestly what kind of name is Trudeau. Not only is the author going to have to look at the long tangent of a name for the rest of this story to spell it right, but what language does that even originate from? Is he from Turkey? And what’s up with his hair in the back it looks like it’s attempting to fly away from his scalp. 

Joe inwardly smirks, not only is his name better but… whatever he’s clearly better. 

Biden saunters over to them. They’re both giggling about something, probably something stupid. Biden can make Obama laugh harder. 

He clears his throat, straightening his spine. Trudeau glowers at him, but Obama remains oblivious. “Oh Joe, uh hey!” 

Biden smiles at him as they fall into an easy conversation, before a dumb person Joe didn't bother to remember the name of comes by and sweeps Obama away. “Excuse me.” Is all he says before he vanishes. 

“Obama is mine.” The statement is raked up from his throat, Trudeau dragging his spine to go as straight as it can as he attempts to loom over Biden.

They both stand chest to chest like birds, glaring right into each others pupils. 

“Besides, you’re married.” He adds, lips folding into a sour smirk.

“So are you, and so is he. But this is politics so none of that matters, besides this is a story.” Biden snips. 

Biden doesn't back down, he always wins staring contests. 

Suddenly Trudeau leaps at him, connecting his chapped lips to Biden’s. Joe splutters, taking a step back and shoving his chest away. 

Trudeau holds his hands up, adding “Hey bro, no homo.” before attempting to dive back in. 

“Obama has my heart, he does now and always will!” Joe stands his ground firmly as Trudeau gags, “Augh you’re one of those politicians.” His irises trace over Joe’s reddening lips. “Too bad, I thought we were having a moment.” He swaggers away, hips swaying behind him. 

Joe doesn’t stare at his butt, his eyes only fall on Obama-senpai’s ass. 

He heads to his office, but doesn't do any of the paperwork that’s piled up on his timber desk. Instead he alternates between cat videos, googling photos of Obama, looking up to see if there’s any new fanfics on Obama and him, logging into his secret tumblr that just posts Obama X Biden memes and supports them-he has five followers!- and looking up the newest music videos to learn the newest kids moves so he can get turnt properly. He is now a certified expert in doing the whip and nae nae. So far eight assistances have walked in on him practice dancing, so Joe fired them all. That’s blackmail after all, he was totally doing the moves wrong at that time. Amateur Joe, Biden snickers to himself. It feels like just yesterday. It was. 

Obama comes rushing in, pistol in hand. “OMG Joe the white house is under attack!” 

Joe jolts into action, grabbing his spear he keeps in the corner of his office. “What?! By who?”   Obama shrugs, “I don't know I wasn't listening to the people who told me I just heard under attack, and was kind of hoping you would know, but clearly you don’t.” 

Biden feels like he just stabbed his own sphere in his heart, he let Obama down. He lower lip quivers, vision growing hazy. 

“But if I had to guess I would say ISIL. Post haste Joe!” Joe nods, knowing he has to be brave as his eyes suck his tears back in. 

He has to stay strong. 

For Barack. 

Joe starts to run after Obama in the hall, but when Obama spots this he halts. “JOE STOP!” He barks, and Joe’s limbs seize all motion. “You can’t run with a sphere it’s the equivalent to, uh, running with scissors. Walk or leave it.” Joe drops it, not wanting to inconvenience his love as he continues to sprint. His calves are nice and built from blazing everyday, and for that he’s thankful it’s lit to blaze. Being good to the environment really does pay off. 

“Quick to the security room!” They dash, Obama knocking down the (unlocked) steel gray door with the firm palm of his chocolate hand. He struts in because he owns this place. He owns everything. 

“Presidential affairs get out.” Obama looms over the cameras, pupils break dancing over each camera. 

Where is ISIL? 

Joe tugs the short mans wheeled chair back, knocking him from his waxy vision from creeping on white house officials all day.

He blinks, words slowly trickling in. “But-“ 

“You heard him get out!” Joe barks directly into his ear, and the man shoots out of his chair squeaking. He rushes out the door, and Joe slams it shut.

“Where are they? I know they’re here! ISILS COME OUT DAMNIT!” Obama slams his fists onto the small wooden table in front of him, rattling it and causing the coffee mug to shimmy off. Glass slides across the floor, penetrating the tension in the room.

Joe grips Obama by his shoulders, “Obama please you need to calm down!” 

“NO I CAN’T! ISILS IS OUT THERE DAMNIT!” Obama’s graying hair is shedding out, and veins attack his irises. Seeing no other choice Joe slaps him, but it hurts Joe more than Obama. Joe cringes as Obama stares wide eyed at him. Obama clears his throat, adjusting his obsidian jacket. 

“I’m sorry Obama, that hurt me more.” Joe sniffles, tears flooding the brims of his eyes. 

Obama shakes his head, “No uh thank you, I needed that.” 

They both take a seat, scooting up to examine the security cameras. 

A sharp knock at the door mutes their already empty throats. They both turn to each other, pupils shrinking as their eyes widen. “ISIS.” Joe mouths and Obama slowly nods. 

Barack leaps into action, taking his light weight chair to attempt to block the door. Joe scurries after him, copying him. The knock resounds once more, and Obama jumps onto the table. He rips the air vent off the wall, banging it onto the floor. 

“We have to go! ISIS is attacking!” He crawls into the air vent, extending his hand out for Joe to grab onto. 

Softly smiling and not believing his luck, he thanks ISIS as he grips Obama’s hand. Yellow light and sparkles float around Obama-senpai and Joe’s eyes grow wide and glitter. A rich crimson coats his pale cheeks as their hands remain grasped together as they stare into each other’s eyes. The butterflies in his stomach assist him in soaring up into the air vent. 

Obama starts to crawl and Joe basks in the sight of the booty. He follows after, and just as they crawl away they hear the door banging open. Airy giggles bounce off the air vents walls, and Obama breaths out, “Ha ISIL is too late.” 

After some time of creeping through the air vents they reach their first crossroad. Obama turns right, because right is always the right direction to go in. 

But soon it feels like days have gone by, after countless right turns Joe feels they’re going in circles. But Obama is always right since he’s Barack Obama, so Joe knows they’ll be out eventually. 

“Don’t worry Joe, uh, our friendship will get us through this. Our friendship can get us through anything.” Obama reaches his wrist back, flashing Joe his BFFL bracelet Joe made for him long ago. 

Biden gasps, before extending his aching arm forward that’s basked in dust to connect his BFFL bracelet to Obama’s. 

They share a grin with each other, staring at each other for forty-eight hours before they continue. 

Eventually they see a light, and they cheer. Their stomachs are hungry, limbs weakening, and lids drooping. 

But they’ve made it through the darkness into the light. 

Obama shoves the air vent open, tumbling two stories down into the grass below. “HUZAH!” He exclaims as he plops down.   Joe plummets down after him, landing on Obama’s stomach. He looks up, and is met with Michelle Obama. The queen B herself. She’s tapping her foot, arms crossed as her eyebrows furrow. “Barack where have you been?!” She’s holding a suitcase, and her daughters are behind her. 

“Uh in the air vents defeating ISIL with Joe.” Obama frowns at her, leisurely getting off the ground. He dusts himself off. Joe is spiraled out into the grass, and has twisted to watch the cloudy bright sky that stings his eyes. 

Michelle shakes her head, “Whatever I’m out, are you coming with or nah?” 

Obama deadpans, “No my work isn't done here. Besides you don’t need me, you’re a strong independent woman.” 

Michelle nods, “So long.” She skips off to the black limo in the distance, throwing her suitcase and children in as she jumps into CeeLo Green’s lap. They screech off, and a bright white limo pulls in immediately after them. 

Donald Trump opens the door to his limo before it has even stopped, hand on his hair to keep it in place. He struts over to Obama and Biden. 

“Donald J. Trump.” Obama glares at him, stiffening. Joe jumps up, standing besides Obama to protect him and be his home boy. 

He sneers at them, top lip curling. “What are you two still doing here, I WON so GET OUT!” 

Joe blinks, “Won?” 

“Yes won! I won the election I crushed it, just like I knew I would!” Donald cackles, behind him the guards are bringing thousands of suitcases into the white house. 

Obama gapes, “Oh my gosh we’ve been in there for months!” He turns to Biden who frowns, lips heavy with confusion. 

Donald shakes his head, “Just get off my property.” Trump stalks away past Ivanka-once again what is up with these names where do they come from-who is perched upon a porcelain pony. It has a fake unicorn horn attached to it. She’s wearing a tiara, munching on violet cotton candy.

Obama and Joe stare at each other, before they both start shrieking. The guards give them sharp nods in empathy as they pass. 

Obama rushes forwards, “Forget ISIL we’re screwed!” He shoves Ivanka off her horse, seizing it. Taking it by the reins he charges towards Biden. Joe, not wasting a moment, leaps on. 

They charge off into the sunset, Joe’s arms wrapped around Obama’s waist, embarking towards Canada. 

On the way a nice man shoves brownies in their arms, running off in panic. They’re super nice and moist, and make both of the men calmer.   Along the way they delve into deep conversations, and their bond grows even closer. “Who closes the door when the bus driver gets off the bus? And what is the definition of the?” Biden continues to voice pointless questions, Obama nodding along in agreement. 

Suddenly, like a rabbit that has just been shot at by a bullet, Joe is shot at by a bullet. He drops off the pony, leg gushing crimson out profoundly. “Obama no!” His voice wavers as he begins to sob. 

“Joe no!” Obama crashes to his knees, head swinging widely from side to side seeking out the culprit in the saturated sunset. 

A man on a brown horse stands on top a hill, screeching, “I HOPE YOUR CONFETTI WAFFLES WERE WORTH IT!” Kellogg's never backs down on a death threat. Never. 

He races away, dust erupting around him. Obama shakes his tightly clenched knuckles at him, before turning back to Joe.   He softly turns Joe’s head turns him, and soft coughs rattle Joe’s chest. “Obama?” He murmurs and Obama nods, tears blocking his vision. “Yes uh yes I’m here.” He nods, and propels himself into action. He rips off his shirt, wrapping it tightly around Joe’s leg. Obama’s chiseled chest keeps Joe at consciousness. 

Obama carries him on the horse, and they carry on.   “Thank you.” Joe smiles up at Obama. 

“Anything for you Joe.” Obama mirrors Joe, blinking his relived tears back. 

Several days later they reach a pond at the border of Canada. They race off their pony, all joyful to have water. They bask in it. Obama and Joe jump in, embracing in a water fight. The pony laps at the water, plotting in the back of its mind to escape. 

Heavy slapping in the water interrupts their water fight, and everything grows motionless. All three pairs of eyes fall on a majestic moose. 

“So Donald J Trump won the election.” He states, and everyone blinks. Even the not-unicorn is shocked. 

“Uh, yes.” Obama nods, and they seize their splashing. 

“I can help you go back in time to help Hillary win. While you were both in the air vents tackling ISIS they were campaigning. If you go back and endorse her then she could win, eh?” The moose steps closer to them. 

Biden simpers, pumping his fist into the air. “How swank! Let’s do this!” 

“Wait, but if we go back will we remember this?” Obama grips Biden’s wrist, stopping his turning up in the chilly body of water. 

The moose huffs, shaking his head. 

Biden frowns, falling motionless. 

Obama twists him near him, holding both his wrists in his hands. “But our love will keep us together since it is strong and eternal.” 

Biden blinks his tears at bay, nodding at Obama. 

He could wait, for America. 

For Barack.

Obama grips one side of the moose’s antlers, connects his hand with Biden’s, and Biden grips his empty hand to the moose's other antler. 

Joe brakes away. “Wait! There’s one last thing I have to do!” He grips Obama, kissing him senseless. 

The moose glances away, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, now I’m ready.” He grips the antler and Obama’s hand once more, and they are all whisked away back into the past.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep that's all folks.


End file.
